“Are you sure that the mother and young are in the cave?”
“Pore ol’ Abe comes to th’ door and—” complains Mighty, but th’ doc pats him on th’ shoulder and sez:
“Never mind. Just as soon as possible I will diagnose his case. I may have to remove his appendix.”
“I don’t reckon that’s what ails him a-tall,” states Mighty. “Yuh see he’s been used to havin’ his meat cut up fer him but, bein’ as I ain’t no Daniel, I didn’t care to center th’ den, so I jist throws in uh saddle uh venison to him and slams th’ door. Mebby he overeats.”
“Unique way to treat a patient, isn’t it, Doctor?” puffs Mrs. Perfessor, from where she rests her bulk on uh log.
“It is,” agrees th’ doc, reprovin’ like. “You should have given him some broth.”
“Never had none,” sez Mighty. “Patent medicines don’t help him none, anyway. Say, Magpie, I got to worryin’ about Abe and his roommate gittin’ in uh fight so I comes over after you left and tied th’ cub to uh timber in there.”
That made it plumb easy. All we has to do is go inside, lead th’ cub out and shut th’ door. Ol’ Abe pokes his head out and wails uh few stanzas, and th’ doc snaps his pitcher machine.
“Wonderful!” whoops th’ perfessor. “You men have earned that bonus right now. You have shown yourselves so competent that I am willing to chance the rest of it. Do you suppose your friend here, with the sick partner, would accept a small remuneration for his services?”
“Without uh doubt,” sez Mighty, before Magpie has uh chance to open his mouth and th’ perfessor slips Mighty a yaller-backed bill.